


From Eden

by Velella



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bunker Fic, Bunker Fluff, Dean-Centric, Depressed Dean, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Pie, Songfic, Souls, vague biblical references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-04-25 14:43:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4964680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Velella/pseuds/Velella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Do you know what your soul looks like, Dean?"</p><p>Inspired by a beautiful song.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From Eden

_Babe, there’s something tragic about you  
Something so magic about you…_

 

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says gently.

“Dammit, Cas, I was nappin’,” Dean grouches into a pillow. The large man left little empty space on the bed with his chosen sleeping position: on his face, limbs spread out in all directions, fingers and toes dangling off the edge. 

“Sam says that you have been ‘napping’ since noon.”

“Yeah, so what?” Dean says, still muffled by his pillow.

“Since noon yesterday.”

Dean turns his head, looking passed Castiel toward the wall of his bedroom. He does not meet the angel’s eyes. His face is red and marked with pillow wrinkles, his hair in disarray. He says nothing.

 

_Don’t you agree?_

 

“You haven’t actually been sleeping.” It was a statement, not an accusation. 

“No.”

Cas lets out a long, slow sigh – he’s gotten quite good at sighs after spending so much time with the Winchesters. He takes the few needed steps to the bed and sits himself on the edge. It protests under the added weight of another fully grown man. Castiel glances around the room. Every piece of weaponry on that wall is a silent and cold reminder of what Dean is, of what Dean hates about himself. Yet, small pockets of the room show another side to the man. A photo of his mother, Mary. A few scattered mementos, things Dean holds dear. 

 

_Babe, there’s something lonesome about you  
Something so wholesome about you..._

 

Castiel glances back at Dean. 

“I won’t tell you to not be melancholy. I understand how humans suffer.” He shifts and turns so he is facing Dean a bit more. “But, I will tell you to not attempt shouldering it alone.” Dean still refuses to meet Castiel’s gaze. His eyes are blank and unfocused, his breaths are coming short and sporadic.

“You are not alone, Dean.”

 

_Get closer to me._

 

Castiel gets back to his feet and the bed thanks him with a creak. He slips his tan trench coat off his shoulders, walks it across the room, and hangs it on a hook among Dean’s jackets. Sometimes the coat that he’s grown rather fond of is just too much _fabric_ to deal with. After a moment’s thought, he removes his suit jacket as well. He drapes it over Dean’s desk chair. Then, he walks back across the room, and climbs onto the bed unannounced. The abruptness is enough to stir Dean out of his ridiculous starfish position. Castiel all but forces himself next to Dean, laying on his side, facing Dean, head on the same pillow. Without question, Dean rolls over, drapes an arm around Cas and buries his face in his angel’s chest. This happens sometimes.

 

_Babe, there’s something wretched about this  
Something so precious about this…_

 

“Tell me.” A velvet gravel whisper.

 

_Where to begin?_

 

A sob wracks through the hunter’s body. Sudden. Fleeting. Contained. Castiel chooses not react to it. He returns Dean’s embrace – tight and protective. His chin rests atop Dean’s head.

A moment.

“I’m tired,” Dean says. Castiel knows he is. He sees that Dean has let himself grow dehydrated. He sees that he has not eaten in well over a day. He sees the muscles of Dean’s face are more slack than usual. He sees the brightest soul clouded by self-hatred, pain, guilt. I’m tired translates to _I need help. I need your help._ And Cas will do anything to help. Seeing his favorite soul clouded such causes Castiel his own form of agony. He presses his lips to the top of Dean’s head and lingers there – not quite a kiss.

 

_Babe, there’s something broken about this  
But I might be hoping about this…_

 

“Do you know what your soul looks like, Dean?” 

 

_Oh, what a sin._

 

Dean mumbles his response into Castiel’s chest. Whether it was a yes or a no, Cas is going to tell him anyway. Castiel wants to tell him. He wants to Dean to understand. 

“Human souls are normally just one color, Dean - one hue. This hue is representative of that person: their personality, their ambitions, their intentions, what have you. Souls themselves are very one dimensional in that way. One color per. And, of course, the relative brightness of that soul reflects the goodness in a person. The Righteousness. Darker souls, naturally, indicate a more evil person. Brighter souls, a righteous.”

Dean finally meets Castiel’s eyes. Hopeful hazel meets fierce, icy blue. Encouraged by the small spark of fire he sees there in his hunter’s eyes, Castiel continues.

“Dean. Your soul… It is all the nebulae and galaxies of the universe concentrated and focused into one human being. The multitude of colors – it’s beautiful. So bright. My brethren can’t bear to gaze at your soul too long for fear of going blind. The brightness – the divine light - God has a higher purpose for you. Your soul banishes the darkness and evil from this world just by existing. Eden slowly returning to Earth. The first true miracle since Creation. No other soul in human existence has done what yours does. Banishing all that darkness, some is sure to seep in and contaminate your soul. This is not shameful. This is just how it works. You don’t believe you are doing good in this world because you are surrounded by so much evil. You have no idea how wrong you are.” 

Castiel is getting more animated now. He grips Dean’s face in the palms of his hands, looking through Dean’s eyes, speaking to his soul. “If you ever once think yourself unworthy or unimportant, Dean, I want you to remember: you are the Righteous Man. You are on the right path. You are the lighthouse in the storm. You are the Way. You are precious.”

 

 _Honey, you’re familiar like my mirror years ago_  
_Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword_  
_Innocence died screaming,_  
_Honey, ask me, I should know…_

 

Dean kisses him. Urgent. Grateful. Every word that Dean can’t bring himself to say is put into that kiss. It lingers. Dean’s hands rest on Castiel’s, still holding his face. He grips Cas’s hands tight. Their foreheads touch. This is where they stay for several minutes – several tiny eternities. 

“Thank you,” Deans whispers, his breathing now calmer and more even. Castiel squeezes him tight, then let’s go. Again the bed argues as the angel shifts positions, making as if to get up. 

“Would you like me to get you something to eat?” Castiel asks. 

“Pie sounds great.” Dean punctuates this with a devious half-smile, sitting up as well. He rubs the pillow marks from his face and fusses with his hair. Groans from behind Castiel accompany feline stretches and Cas smirks as he walks across the room.

“Then pie it is,” Cas says and exits the bedroom, choosing to use the door this time. His coat and jacket remain behind, to be remembered about later. This happens sometimes.

 

_I slithered here from Eden just to hide outside your door._

**Author's Note:**

> The lyrics inserted into this fic are from Hozier's "From Eden." All rights for that song go to him, of course. It is such a beautiful song. I encourage you to give it a listen and I _dare_ you not to think of Dean and Cas when you do so. Here is a link to the EP version of his song: [From Eden](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JmWbBUxSNUU).


End file.
